One day when I came home, I had some make up on my face. What is that on your face? My dad said. Make-up. Natalie did my make-up. I replied. Well Nate... you look very pretty. My mom said. Go wash your face. Then come see me. My dad demanded. I could hear faint arguing as I washed my face. Once I washed all of the make up off, I walked out. My dad had his belt in his hand. Come here. He screamed. I walked over and I felt a strip of pain across my face. Then across my back several times. I cried. I could smell the coffee. It almost made me salivate, but first I had to pee. I found my shorts tangled in the sheet at the foot of the bed and pulled them on under the sheet. As I headed for the open bathroom door I felt as embarrassed as a schoolgirl caught with her hand in her panties. I recalled the previous night, and the party, a singles mixer hosted by the apartment complex where my friend Steve lived. He invited me and I went, hoping to get lucky. I had no luck, though, although I mixed. More

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